Stuck
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Sister Bernadette gets into a slight spot of trouble and Dr. Turner has to help her; causing another problem for them both. Set mid-series two and based on an extract from the Call the Midwife books.
1. Chapter 1

**I got the idea for this from an extract from the Call the Midwife books which was posted on Tumblr. It is strange and I've altered the extract a bit; but nevertheless I hope you like it. It's a oneshot at the moment but I'm on holiday for another week so I could go on. Also, I've chosen to set it after the kiss on the hand but before the TB diagnosis. **

He stood back for a moment, surveying Mrs Matthews sitting up in with her new little boy in her arms quite contentedly. It had been a painful birth and he was happy that this time it had come to such a happy end. Of course, he had had the best of help, Sister Bernadette as always had been truly indefatigable- crouching on the hard floor beside the mother for the duration, murmuring words of encouragement, in effect making sure they _all_ got through it.

Looking away from the baby in her arms, Mrs Matthews smiled at him, then turned to Sister Bernadette, frowning a little.

"Sister are you alright?" she asked.

Patrick turned in slight alarm in Sister Bernadette's direction. He had been so busy minding Mrs Matthews and the baby that it had escaped his notice that Sister Bernadette had not got back to her feet since the baby had been delivered, she was still kneeling in the same uncomfortable position.

"What is it, Sister?" he asked, concerned.

"Doctor, I'm stuck," she told him, looking up at him from the floor, quite calmly but nevertheless betraying a slight hint of discomfort and embarrassment, "My legs have gone completely to sleep. I'm sorry but, you'll have to help me up."

He hesitated for a moment. What she said should not have been surprising; she _had_ been kneeling on the floor in the same position, focused intently on her work, for the best part of half an hour. It would have been nothing short of a miracle if she had been able to spring back up.

She smiled up at him again, her eyes wide; smiling but looking rather helpless.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," she told him again, as if it were to much to ask.

He did not know why he was hesitating. Nothing she could ask of him was too much. Perhaps that was the problem. If he had been asked to help any of the nurses up, or Sister Julienne, Sister Evangelina-... he would have tried his level best and perhaps been more of a hindrance than a help, but he would not have dwindled liked this if asked to help one of them. But it was Sister Bernadette... Sister Bernadette who was ever more frequently lingering in his thoughts, who he had foolishly kissed on the hand, who was too beautiful for either of their sakes.

"There's no need to be sorry," he told her, extending his arms towards her, "Come here."

Leaning forwards, he wrapped his arms as precisely around her waist as humanly possible, trying to avoid making her uncomfortable. But even this was enough to make him palpably aware of her physical presence under his bowed body, the top of her hip bone under his hand, the tired curve of her back brushing against his legs. Bent nearly double, his head was at a level with hers and unless he was very much mistaken, he heard her breath hitch quietly. He wondered if she was close enough to hear his heart hammering through his shirt. She was of a slender build, but nevertheless the feel of her, her presence under his skin was firm, solid, comfortingly so, he thought in the brief moments before he caught up with his own wandering mind and told it very sternly to stop.

He pulled hard, and it made no impression, she remained stuck on the floor. Bracing himself, moving his legs slightly further apart to steady himself, he pulled again. Nothing. She was a dead weight, she really did have no control over the lower part of her body, she was completely stuck. He loosened his grip on her a little, but did not withdraw completely.

"Your legs must be hurting a lot," he murmured to her, quite concerned by now, "Why didn't you say?"

"I didn't notice until now," she replied quietly, "And they aren't painful. I can't feel them at all. Even if they had been... there were more important things to do."

He sighed; her selflessness, though it did not surprise him, was a little alarming; it was so absolute.

"She's stuck," he told Mrs Matthews, rather inanely, not able to think of anything else to say.

"So I see," the mother remarked a little wryly, somewhat recovered by now, and then, kindly, to Sister Bernadette, "We've both been in the wars, haven't we, Sister?"

"Quite," Sister Bernadette replied, smiling in spite of her obvious discomfort, " Though you've come out of them more gracefully than I have, Mrs Matthews. Dr. Turner..."

"Yes?" he asked her.

"Your..." she nodded towards her own waist, where his hand was still lodged, though it would obviously be foolish for him to try to pull her up again. Her voice was soft and carried no hint of a reprimand, only she still sounded a little strained and uncomfortable. He had just settled naturally back into this position, he had almost forgotten that he was touching her. She, obviously, had not. He withdrew quickly.

"Sorry," he told her before straightening up and taking a step back.

She made no reply.

Mrs Matthews, however, was rather more in control of the situation than either one of them were.

"Sit her down with her legs stretched out, Doctor," she told him, "That'll do the trick. Get the blood back to her feet."

"Yes," he nodded curtly, "Good idea."

"I'll just stay here on the floor," Sister Bernadette told him, "If that's alright with Mrs Matthews."

"Certainly, dear, you stay there just as long as you like."

She attempted to kick her legs out from under herself, failed, and, in some frustration now, looked at him rather pleadingly.

"You'll have to help me," she told him.

Her eyes were still wide, oh so wide and uncertain; embarrassed, tired, uncomfortable, willing him to just help her.

"Of course," he replied, "If you grab onto there," he indicated to the iron bed post that was just near enough for her to reach, "Lift yourself with your arms and I'll see to your legs."

There was a slight pause.

"If I may," he added, a little sheepishly.

She nodded a little brusquely, doing as he had told her.

"Let's just do it," she told him, her discomfort starting to wear her patience down a little.

"Right," he agreed, "Are you ready?" bending over again, ready to take hold of her ankle, "Right, lift."

She lifted herself up as he told her, and, as easily as anything, he slipped his fingers gently, right around her ankle, straightening her limp leg as carefully as he could so it stretched out before her. He heard her hiss slightly; her face was taught as she tried to control herself.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"It's just tingling a lot," she told him, "I've never had such bad pins and needles. The feeling's coming back."

As she spoke, her eyes moved smoothly to rest on where his hand still lingered by her ankle. Again, he withdrew his hand quickly.

"Just do that again," he told her, "And we'll sort the other leg out, then you'll feel a lot better."

She nodded, and lifted herself up again. Once she sat with her legs out in front of her, she leant forwards and sorted out the habit that had ridden up under her legs to expose her knees. Trying his best to be courteous, he averted his eyes as she tidied herself up. Turning away, he looked straight towards Mrs Matthews. He was not expecting her to be looking back, or for her to catch the look on his face, that he had just turned away from Sister Bernadette on the floor. The woman's face softened somehow, and he knew that she could tell how he was feeling.

He looked at his feet. He could not stand it; to not be allowed to touch her and to have to touch her like this. His body was reeling from it; his chest felt tight, his pulse high and he was struggling to keep his uneven breathing under control. His heart felt ready to explode; he could not look at her, at the beautiful girl on the floor whose body he had just circled in his arms. Still, he stared at his shoes.

"Dr. Turner," Mrs Matthews spoke quite gently to him, "Would you mind going and telling my husband it's alright for him to come up now?"

"Not at all, Mrs Matthews," he replied, more than grateful for the chance she was giving him to escape.

He left the room as quickly as he could, taking a deep breath only when he reached the stairs.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

A few moments after Mr Matthews, Patrick proceeded back up the stairs to check on the progress of mother and baby. Reaching the top landing, he was met by the most bizarre sight. Sister Bernadette, still sitting down at floor level, was leaning her weight back on her hands shuffling herself towards him in a strange, awkward, almost crab-like motion and her unreliable legs carefully out of the bedroom.

"What in heaven's name are you doing, Sister?" he asked her, hardly able to contain his astonishment at what he saw.

"I thought they should have a moment alone together," she told him quite sincerely, coming to a halt in front of him and having to look very steeply upwards to meet his gaze, "They don't want me just sitting there on the floor."

Really, he adored her. Ridiculous, selfless girl. She looked so small there on the floor craning her neck up at him, yet somehow she managed it without seeming foolish or childish. Strange as her actions had seemed, he had to admit they did make a kind of sense.

"How are your legs?" he asked her, returning to the real heart of the matter, "Do you need any help?"

"They're feeling a lot stronger now," she replied, "Not sitting on them has done them the world of good. I think I'll be able to stand up if you give me a hand."

"Of course," he obliged immediately, extending his hand to take hers.

Her small hand fit into his, and he grabbed her wrist- his fingers wrapping right around- just as he had done with her ankle not long ago. Tension ran down the length of both of their arms, but this time it was at least to some avail, slowly but surely she began to rise to her feet.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, "That was very kind of y-..."

She broke off, unable to go on in her surprise. Evidently, her feet were not a steady yet as she thought they were, and she wavered as if she was about to fall down again. Out of the corner of his eye, it appeared that she was much closer to the top of the stairs than she really was and for a moment he really feared that she would fall to the bottom. He did not hesitate; taking one large, swift stride forwards, he was by her in a second, his arms circling her again, holding her steady.

"It's alright, I've got you."

It seemed like the only thing to say.

Holding her steady, holding her upright, holding her inadvertently close to his own body; her back pressing against his chest, her head tucked just beside his chin- he knew she could probably feel his breath on her forehead. One of his hands rested gently around her waist, the other firmly gripped the inside of her elbow. In her initial surprise she had given a sharp gasp of breath; now, with this new proximity, her breath grew quieter but did not calm. Nor did his own. It had been entirely an accident that he had ended up holding her like this, but now he could not let go; while they were still like this it was almost possible to ignore the inadvertent intimacy, it would not be the moment that either of them moved.

But they could not stay like this forever, no matter how much he might want to. And it was more than plain that neither of them was choosing, or able, to ignore the intimacy anyway.

Dropping his hands, he released her. For a moment though, she did not move except to sway forwards slightly, and merely stayed, unattached, with her back so close to his chest but barely touching.

She was a nun, for heaven's sakes! He should not be feeling like this about her, her physical presence should not affect him; it was not fair of him if he let it. But unless he was very much mistaken, she felt it too... But that was beside the point, the point was that he should in the first place be...

He could not help it. He imagined that he was allowed to be with her like this, close enough to touch, actually touching, pressed, held together. Holding on like their lives each depended on it. He imagined some bizarre, impossible state of affairs where she could return how he felt. He imagined that she was his wife, and he could wrap his arms around her whenever, wherever he liked; just standing in the street, in their home, in their bed. His mind could not bare the torture of trying to imagine how it would be to make love to her, but evidently his body was going to give it a try. He struggled, fought to keep himself in check.

Her body swayed away from his as she half turned back towards him and mercifully, mercilessly, the moment was broken.

She looked up into his face. If he had been observing objectively he would have seen that she looked just as daunted as he felt, but all he could think of was the feelings raging through him and of how she had turned too quickly for him to be able to disguise them in his expression. He knew how he felt was written all over his face, and, looking into his eyes like this, she must be able to see all of it. She was quiet for a moment, speechless, just looking at him; and when she spoke, her eyes lowered a little, leaving his to stare at his collar.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, "I-... Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Sister," he told her, dismissing her thanks, "It's nothing."

Her eyes flitted momentarily back up to his. It was so very much different to nothing; it was as far away from nothing as possible, and it showed in both their eyes. But of course, she would not mention it. Neither of them ever did. They couldn't.

"I had better go and see to things downstairs," she told him, "Get things tidied up."

"Of course," he agreed, "I'll be down to help in a moment."

"There's no need to hurry," she told him, smiling kindly back up in his direction as she made her way down the stairs, but not turning back far enough to meet his eyes again.

He had ever intention of following swiftly to help her, but for a moment he heeded her advice; staying there at the top of the stairs. His head bowed for a moment and he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers firmly to either side of the bridge of his nose. What on earth were they going to do?

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